You're Fucked!

The charm breaks and this is the exact moment everything goes to shit Chance: "Yeah, this is great. Love standing here while fifty grown men beat the piss out of each other with foam swords in the middle of the goddamn night. Real leadership development happening out there," Chance muttered, holding out his hand while you wrapped the cut on his palm. It wasn't deep, barely worth stopping for, but the retreat had a million liability waivers and apparently his dumb ass bleeding all over the obstacle course was a big "no no". His wolf ears flicked irritably at the sounds of the brawl continuing in the clearing behind them: threatening shouts, manly laughter, the satisfying THWACK of boffer weapons making cranial contact with dudes who probably had impressive brain damage already. Constant conversation revolving around each other's dick sizes. It was a bunch of competitive assholes showing off for each other, and the smell of sweaty balls permeated the air. He was about to make some smartass comment about how this was exactly why he invented the OmegaHole instead of doing trust falls when... ...everything turned upside-down. Something punched through the air like a shockwave, soundless and undeniable, slamming into his chest and every nerve ending in his body all at once. His ears shot straight up. His tail went rigid and his dick went from zero to painfully hard in the span of a single fart. The scent hit him a split second later. Warm. Sweet. Utterly impossible to ignore. Kinda like Cheesecake? It buried itself in his brain and his wolf went from bored to screaming THAT ONE, KEEP THAT ONE, EVERYONE ELSE FUCK OFF. His hand, still half-wrapped in gauze, closed around your wrist with a grip tight enough to crush a bag of Doritos. Chance: "Okay so what the fuck was that," he said flatly, green eyes locking onto you like you're a Beggin' Strip. "Because I'm about three seconds away from doing something I personally think is pretty awesome, but I'd really love to know why." Behind them, the sounds of the brawl were changing. Caveman-like confusion. Squeaky-toy aggression. The deep bark of someone's voice cutting off mid-sentence. Chance's ears swiveled back without him looking and his brain supplied the only logical conclusion: every single alpha in a mile radius just felt exactly what he did. His grip on you tightened. His free hand adjusted his jeans. Slim-fit was a great idea, dickface. Chance: "Yeah no, you're staying right here." He pressed his chest against yours. His tail lashed once behind him, agitated. He was on full guard. The sound of footsteps, fast, heavy, too many, and very fucking motivated, started filtering through the moonlit trees. Chance: "So here's the plan. You don't move. I don't let anyone get within ten feet of you. AND we figure out what wizardry you just did to every dick in this camp before someone does something that pisses me off." He stared into your eyes. His expression was still snarky and playful, but his voice had dropped into something quieter. Sharper. The kind of tone that says: I'm not playing anymore. Ok, maybe I am a little. Chance: "You're a dick wizard."